


The thing we need

by Cutebutpsycho



Category: Leverage, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Jealous Sherlock, Sophie is the missing Holmes sibling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cutebutpsycho/pseuds/Cutebutpsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the hiatus, Sherlock brings in all the help he can get to protect his friends. What happens when one of those protectors gets too close to a friend?</p>
<p>Blame Tygermama for this idea that snuck into my head and started gnawing on my brain. She’s the one with the theory that Sophie from Leverage is Sherrinford Holmes who ran off and became Sophie Devereaux for her own reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The thing we need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tygermama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tygermama/gifts).



“Coffee?”

Molly glanced over at the man known as Dr. Wes Abernathy. “I’m sorry, I’m a little preoccupied right now,” she replied. “Maybe later?”

She was impressed that she kept her voice steady. The good doctor, who was originally from Oaklahoma, had arrived to do some work at St. Barts shortly after the whole Reichenbach incident.

Molly wouldn’t deny that she doubted he was a doctor — there was something a bit too primal about him. But that could’ve been because he was an American. They all just seemed a little more brawn than brains to Molly. And in Dr. Abernathy’s case, that brawn just translated into animal magnetism for her. 

“No,” Dr. Abernathy slid a cup along the table towards her. “I brought some for you,” he said. “I figured you needed a little something since we’re both pulling double shifts.”

Molly looked up at him and smiled. He was kind of cute, in that rugged sense. And that accent of his mixed with the gravely voice did make it hard for her to concentrate at times. Sometimes she found herself transfixed on his mouth, only to find him noticing her watching his lips. Those conversations ended with her bright red and stammering as she turned away from him.

“Thank you,” she blushed as she accepted the cup. It was hot, creamed to within an inch of its life and there was a dash of cinnamon on top and she let out a small “mmm” of pleasure as the caffeine hit her system.

He was staring at her. She could feel her blush deepen. 

“Do you have any friends in London Dr. Abernathy?” she asked after a long silence.

He shook his head. “First time I’ve been in England,” he said. “And please, call me Wes.”

Molly smiled. “Would you like someone to show you around town Wes?”

“Please.”

~~~

Time passed. Sherlock soon returned from the dead to prove his innocence, regain his reputation and also get punched in the jaw by John. In short, it was a new normal. 

Not long after his return, Sherlock made a visit to St. Barts to see how Molly was faring.

The lab was like how he had left it — minus some of his specimens and experiments, but that was to be expected. What wasn’t expected was Molly standing shoulder to shoulder with someone who was definitely not a doctor. Or that they’d be giggling over a cat video.

Even more surprising was the way that man’s arm had snaked around her waist, indicating a familiarity that didn’t seem becoming in the workplace.

Sherlock coughed.

Molly’s head whipped back and she saw him. “Sherlock!” she shrieked, then bounded over to give him a hug. Which was expected, but not unwelcome.

“Molly,” he replied a bit stiffly. “I see I’m disturbing you.”

She shook her head. “No, not at all,” she replied. “It’s a slow afternoon, so Wes and I were watching this video of Maru — you know, the cat from Japan —”

“Yes,” Sherlock silkily replied, glancing over at the good doctor. “Sherlock Holmes —” he strode over to examine the man. 

The doctor straightened himself and looked at Sherlock. “Doctor Wes Abernathy,” he took the detective’s hand and shook it. Surprisingly firm grip, Sherlock noted. Judging by his stance and the way he was sizing Sherlock up, Doctor Abernathy was as much of a doctor as he was a member of the clergy.

“From Oklahoma?” Sherlock asked.

The doctor’s eyes widened in fake surprise and he nodded. “That’s pretty good,” he rambled. “I mean, everyone here knows I’m from the South, but they don’t know exactly where, so they’re all taking guesses and I’ve had to tell them that no, the South isn’t just Texas —”

Molly slid over to the man called Doctor Abernathy. “Wes came to St. Barts shortly after you left,” she said quickly. It was impressive — despite Molly saying that she wasn’t smart, Sherlock thought she had a preternatural ability to sense awkward situations that needed smoothing over with some more awkwardness.

She had a fragile smile on her face. “He’s been ever so helpful,” she said. “And I’ve been showing him around.”

Doctor Abernathy’s arm slid around her waist again. For some reason, Sherlock found himself surprised and a bit peeved by that possessive gesture. “She’s been a great girl,” he said. “Showed me around London, all the things you need for day-to-day living, you know.”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Well, I have to get going. I’ll talk to you later Molly,” he curtly nodded his head. “Doctor Abernathy.”

The detective stalked out of the lab, trying to ignore a certain annoyed feeling biting at him.

~~~

It had been such a pleasant afternoon, Sophie thought to herself. Shopping at Harrods, taking in the art at the National Gallery with Nate and Parker (even though she could tell Parker was checking out the alarm system) and a quick stroll through Hyde Park. 

Why the hell did her baby brother have to spoil it all?

The minute she saw her hotel door, she knew it had been broken into. Opening it, she took in the sight of Sherlock, draped across a sofa in the midst of a level five sulk.

“Sherlock,” Sophie put on her best sincere smile. 

He whipped up and stared at her. “What. Did. You. Do?” he asked, throwing each word out like it was a dart. 

Sophie blinked. “Whatever do you mean?” she said, closing the door and thanking the heavens that Nate was off lining up an oil executive as another mark.

“Sherrinford,” he stood up and stalked over to her. “What. Did. You. Do. To. My. Pathologist? I go away for a year and suddenly there’s a man, obviously ex-military and special forces, posing as a doctor from Oklahoma —”

Sophie shrugged. “You’ve met Eliot,” she said. 

“What is he doing with my pathologist?”

“Guarding her,” Sophie moved past him, dropped some of her shopping bags down and sat down on the couch. Removing her heels, she looked up at Sherlock. “What’s the problem? I did as Mycroft and you asked. Now that you’re back, we’ll be leaving again, no worries at all. It’ll be like I never existed. What’s the problem?”

“What is he doing with my pathologist?” Sherlock could only find himself parroting those words over and over again. “He’s excessively familiar with her and I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t have to trust him,” Sophie said. “I do. And I trust him to take care of Doctor Hooper,” she continued. “As for his ‘excessive familiarity,’” she glanced up at him, realization breaking over her face. “You’re jealous aren’t you? Didn’t get the hero’s welcome you were expecting?”

Sherlock’s mouth snapped shut.

Sophie grinned. Her brothers might be geniuses, they were incredibly thick when it came to matters of the heart.


End file.
